


The First Noel

by misha_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Rutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gives in to Castiel's demands for Christmas decorations and even teaches him about mistletoe because he's just that nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Noel

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays!
> 
> _I haven't written anything in a while, my apologies if this is a bit rusty._

Dean ignores Castiel’s sullen silence.  He’s long since learned that Cas won’t talk about whatever’s bothering him until he’s damned good and ready and anyway, he’s kind of cute when he broods.  He bides his time, ignoring the way Castiel sneaks around with books whose titles he keeps hidden from view and the way he flips the TV channel quickly when Dean walks into the bunker’s common room.  It takes three full days before Castiel corners him in the kitchen while he’s making lunch and stands, arms crossed over his chest waiting for Dean’s attention.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, looking up from the grilled cheese sandwich that’s smoking in the pan.

“We need Christmas decorations, Dean,” Castiel replies with no preamble.

Dean suspected it had  _something_  to do with Christmas; t’is the season and all that.  He nods slowly, pressing the grilled cheese flatter before he flips it over.  “What’d you have in mind, Cas?”

“Lights?  A tree?  Stockings?  You know,  _Christmas decorations._ ”

When he looks up again, Castiel is watching him expectantly.  It’s almost as though he thinks Dean has the power to stop this runaway train of Christmas cheer even if he wanted to.  Dean nods again and smiles, trying for ‘very pleased with the idea’, but almost certain he falls short.

“No outside lights, but otherwise you can do whatever you want.”

“Why can’t we have outside lights?”

“Secret bunkers don’t stay secret for long if you decorate them with zillion watt red-and-green blinking lights,” Dean answers patiently.  He flips the oozing grilled cheese sandwich out of the pan and onto a plate, then turns to find Castiel face to face with him, nodding thoughtfully.  

“We’ll go get a tree tonight.” Cas grins and presses a quick kiss to Dean’s lips before grabbing the plate off the counter and turning to leave.

“Sam can take you.  Christmas is his thing,” Dean says before adding, “That was  _my_  sandwich, asshole!”

***

It comes as no surprise to anyone but Dean when, only a few hours later, he’s the one freezing his ass off while Castiel weighs the pros and cons of every tree on the lot.  While he hops around, trying to keep from dying with each seemingly icicle-encrusted breath he takes, Castiel finally settles on two trees.  One is thick and shrubby, with full branches and the other is much scrawnier and a little crooked, looking like it was at the bottom of the pile on the truck that brought them here.

“What do you think?”  Castiel asks, pulling his beanie down further over his red ears.  “Which one?”

“Whichever one will make you hurry up before I turn into a popsicle,” Dean says testily, rubbing his hands together in a futile attempt to warm them.

Castiel glares, then turns back to the two trees.  Before Dean can tell him that the bigger, fuller one is probably a better choice, Cas decides on the scrawny tree.  He isn’t about to try to change Castiel's mind.  They pay for the tree and after a short argument that Dean loses about tying the tree to the top of the Impala… 

_“Dean, it’s less than two miles to the bunker.  If you drive slowly, it will be fine.”_

_“Fine, just shut up and help me with this knot, will you?”_

… they make their way home.  In their absence, Kevin and Sam searched the depths of the bunker and came up with both decades old ornaments  _and_  ancient artifacts that they’ve turned into even more ornaments.  Dean drinks rum-laced hot chocolate and grumbles on the couch while the other three try to fluff out the scraggly limbs of the tree and hang the decorations with care.  They even manage to turn up a string of lights that works.  

_A regular Christmas miracle_ , Dean thinks, snickering into his hot chocolate.

Sam retrieves two pairs of tube socks from the laundry room - one with green stripes around the top, the other with red - to which Kevin adds the men’s names before Castiel hangs them from a makeshift mantle.  Although he’d never admit it, the crooked little tree with its gaudy decorations and oddly-patterned blinking lights feel like a fitting Christmas home for his little makeshift family.

For his part in the tree decorating spectacle, Dean keeps the spiked hot chocolate and eggnog flowing to everyone.  What started as trying to thaw himself out after the  _at least_  seven months he spent on the Christmas Tree Tundra turns into a mission to get everyone so drunk they forget about watching  _It’s A Wonderful Life_.  Again.

The mission works so well that by the time midnight rolls around and Sam and Kevin beg off to stumble to their rooms, Castiel is curled up on the couch in Dean’s arms.  The two men try to keep their public displays of affection to a minimum to avoid teasing, but what is rum good for if not making people merry enough to forget to be annoyed by other people’s fake retching sounds?

Castiel’s body is warm and pliant as he stretches against Dean’s.  In the blinking lights of the tree, he shifts to look at Cas’ face, his cheeks flushed bright by their time in the cold and the addition of alcoholic hot chocolate.  Castiel smiles and strokes his palm against Dean’s jaw.

“There’s still one more thing we need,” Dean murmurs, turning his face to kiss Castiel’s hand.  “But, we’ll have to get it tomorrow.”

He shifts until he’s pressed the full length of Dean’s body, one leg thrown over Dean’s thigh as he perches precariously on the edge of the couch.  Dean tightens his hold, arms wrapped around Castiel’s muscular body to keep him from falling.  Although Castiel watches, waiting for him to continue, he has no intention of explaining the joys of mistletoe.

He’d much rather show him.

***

Dean is the first out of bed, leaving a snoring Castiel burrowed under the blankets he insists on hogging.  He isn’t sure what time they finally made it to bed, he only knows that Castiel was drunk to the point of uncontrollable giggling and it was nearly impossible to make him keep his hands to himself and just go to sleep.  After Dean drinks a pot of coffee by himself with no sign of other life, he pulls on his clothes as quietly as he can and sneaks out of the bunker.

Mistletoe is surprisingly hard to find, but Dean perseveres.  When he finally makes it back to the bunker, a very hungover-looking Sam and Kevin are huddled around the coffee pot, arguing over who gets the first cup.

“Where’s Cas?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant as he shoves his hand into his coat pocket to make sure the mistletoe is still there.

“Dunno,” Kevin mumbles.

“Haven’t seen him,” Sam answers helpfully.

Dean rolls his eyes and leaves them to their squabbling as he heads down the hallway to the bedroom he and Castiel have shared since two days after Cas started calling the bunker home.  He shouldn’t be surprised to find nothing but a big lump in the middle of the bed, a blanket-wrapped former-angel who takes mornings harder than any other human Dean’s ever met.  

“Cas?” Dean whispers.  Unsurprisingly, there’s no answer.

Dean creeps closer to the bed, shedding his jacket and boots as he clings to a sprig of mistletoe.  Castiel makes a noise, wordless and grumpy, when he crawls onto the bed; when Dean uncovers his head, Castiel groans.  He tries to fight back a laugh at the sour look Castiel greets the day with, but fails.  Cas blinks in the harsh light, then rubs his face and runs his fingers through his already mussed hair.  He finally yawns and fixes his stare on the greenery Dean is holding over his own head.

“What’s that?”  His voice is thick with sleep, his face a mask of adorable bewilderment at the sight before his eyes.

“You have to kiss me,” Dean says.

“But..”  Castiel starts, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Kiss me,” Dean says again, grinning and wriggling the waxy plant over his head.

Castiel leans up, stretching to reach Dean’s lips for a quick kiss.  His lips are soft, warm with sleep, and when he moves to pull away, Dean follows.  A small, surprised noise is the reward as he presses one kiss after another to Castiel’s lips.  Morning person or not, Castiel gets on board soon enough, his warm hands on Dean’s cold face, pulling him down into ever deeper kisses.

As their kisses grow messier and more imprecise between soft huffs of breath, Castiel slowly emerges from under the blanket. Dean holds the mistletoe until he forgets to hold it anymore, focusing instead on stroking the smooth curve of Castiel’s ribs, resting his hand over the waistband of the underwear Castiel insists on wearing to bed.

Dean is still fully clothed when Castiel pushes him onto his back, stretching against him as their long legs tangle together and their kisses turn to panted nibbles and half-articulated groans of pleasure.  He doesn’t argue when Castiel unbuckles his belt and opens his jeans.  He breathes a sigh of relief when Castiel’s deft fingers wrap around the shaft of his hardening cock and start to stroke.

He flattens his hand against the small of Castiel’s back, pulling his grinding hips tighter; and closes his eyes as Castiel’s wet kisses trail down the curve of his jaw.  Castiel presses more of the same to his earlobe as the pace of the fist wrapped loosely around his cock increases erratically.  Castiel ruts against Dean’s thigh, grunting and growling his pleasure between ragged breaths. 

Pressure builds as Dean grabs Castiel by his narrow hips and tugs until he’s fully on top.  Castiel’s hand slips away from Dean’s cock only to be replaced by the roughness of his underwear and the hardness of his own cock beneath them.  He thrusts downward, the force of his movements stealing Dean’s breath until he is reduced to groaning against Castiel's lips and trying to steal another kiss, bucking up into Castiel’s warmth.

A frantic wave of need runs through Dean and he grips Castiel’s hips roughly to thrust up against him.  The way Castiel’s breath catches before returning in a low moan of pleasure sends Dean crashing over the edge of orgasm, his body going tight as his cock pulses hot between their bodies.  Castiel’s lips are on his again, sudden and needy and wet.  Dean kisses, desperate and filthy even as he shivers in the afterglow haze, digging his nails into the roundness of Castiel’s ass and toppling him over the edge, too.

Castiel’s hips move erratically as he whimpers and bites at Dean’s lips, sounds of pleasure that he will  _never_  get tired of hearing.  Long after the slick mess between their bodies has started to cool, Castiel’s hips still move reflexively, grinding the wetness into the fabric that separates them.  Dean holds Castiel, kissing his forehead and temple absently, enjoying the feel of his warm breath as it slowly returns to normal.

“What was that?”  Castiel asks, his voice still rough.

“Mistletoe,” Dean answers with a soft chuckle. Castiel raises his head to study Dean’s face as though there’s further answer to be found there.  When nothing more is forthcoming, he presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes, his smiling lips brushing chastely against Dean’s.

Dean can’t help the shiver of anticipation when Castiel finally murmurs, “I hope you have more.”


End file.
